


soldier

by goldpeak



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Based on a song, Blood and Violence, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Couch Cuddles, Cuddling, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Nightmares, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 06:50:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18795163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldpeak/pseuds/goldpeak
Summary: //you gotta wipe the dirt off of your handsCool, smooth vibranium against his palm. Lifting his hand up, turning it over, kissing each knuckle.The same to the other one.Long hair tickles his wrists.//careful son, you got dreamer’s planPressing his nose into soft, smooth skin. Kissing it, as soft as it is.Feeling the body shift under his, a soft murmur of encouragement and then arms enveloping him again.He goes light.One more kiss.Closes his eyes to the golden light.





	soldier

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by and lyrics borrowed from "soldier" by fleurie.

_soldier keep on marching on_

Crack.

The door blows off its’ hinges, clattering to the ground with a sickly crack. Dust billows up around it, shrouding the armored forms as they press into the building.

Snap. Crack. Snap, snap.

Heavy footsteps on the cement floor echo through the building. More dust.

Snap. Rip.

Splintered wood from crates goes flying as the men shoot and stomp. The curtains on the windows tear off, disintegrating.

A muffled scream. A door is ripped open, once more.

Hushed speaking over the radios.

Chop. Chop. Chop.

_head down til the work is done_

The light from the windows catches on the white star of a vibranium shield.

The whirring of the helicopter blades outside.

_waiting on the morning sun_

The body leaves a trail of red in the dirt.

Clang. Click. Clang, crack.

The weight of his boots on the metal ladder as he boards the helicopter.

Whirr.

The door slides shut.

_soldier keep on marching on._

Water washes the blood down the drain.

Still doesn’t know whose it was.

_head in the dust, feet in the fire._

Crackle. Snap.

Orange light sets everything aglow. The heat radiates, pulsing from every fire. It singes clothes and burns fingertips.

_labor on that midnight wire_

The smoke curls up into the sky, pale against the darkness. The stars are obscured. There is nothing.

Nothing except screams, more screams. More blood in the dirt and sand and concrete and tile and everywhere else.

He wipes a drop of blood off of his brow.

He doesn’t know if it’s his.

_listening for that angel choir_

Whir. Chop, whir. Chop, whir, chop.

The dust billows up as the helicopter lands in the field.

He flinches as the dust blows into his eyes. The tears he shed cut trails through the grime on his cheeks.

Clang. Click. Clang, crack.

The weight of his boots.

_you got nowhere to run._

Bound hands. Restraints slicing into skin. The burn of the rope, cut of the metal. Darkness, darkness, darkness. Orange, fire, smoke, dust. In his eyes, in his face, blood in his eyes. Blood on his face.

Strangled screaming, jerking awake, tearing the bedsheets underneath his hands. Darkness, still dark.

_you wanna take a drink of that promise land_

Gold light.

Warmth, enveloping, familiar, everywhere.

Soft lips on his brow, his temple, his forehead. The arm around his shoulders that pulls him closer, into the warmth. Long hair falls into his face, he inhales.

Smells like home.

_you gotta wipe the dirt off of your hands_

Cool, smooth vibranium against his palm. Lifting his hand up, turning it over, kissing each knuckle.

The same to the other one.

Long hair tickles his wrists.

_careful son, you got dreamer’s plan_

Pressing his nose into soft, smooth skin. Kissing it, as soft as it is.

Feeling the body shift under his, a soft murmur of encouragement and then arms enveloping him again.

He goes light.

One more kiss.

Closes his eyes to the golden light.

_but it gets hard to stand._

No light.

The rustle of the sheets as he slides from them.

The long, dark hair splayed across the pillow beside his, and the vibranium limb lying next to it.

He shuts the door, softly.

_soldier keep on marching on_

Pulling on the uniform. Snapping the weapons onto the belt, slinging the bag over his shoulder.

Sliding the shield onto his arm.

_head down til the work is done_

The bite of the air as he falls through it.

The ache of the dirt as he falls on it.

Dust billows up as his men land beside him.

Whoosh.

Their parachutes fall to the ground.

_waiting on that morning sun_

Red on the horizon. Peeking above the mountains. Red glow.

Red everywhere. Red everything.

Red blood. Red drops, red stains, red pools.

Red stars.

Red faces, red skulls.

_soldier keep on marching on_.

Snap.

Broken nose.

Crunch.

Broken finger.

Crunch, crack, pop.

Broken body.

Trail in the dirt. Red trail in the dirt. It glows in the sun.

_quiet now, you gonna awake the beast_

The door glides shut. Golden evening light spills over the wood floor.

Spotless. Not a speck of dust.

Around the corner, a head of dark, long hair splayed out on the couch cushions, now. Billowed around a head. Book laid on a chest.

_hide your soul out of his reach_

Drip. Drip. Drip, drip-.

The heat of the shower. The steam, the burn, the sting.

Clean, at last.

_shiver to the broken beat_

Turns the water cold, puts his face in the stream. It washes away the guilty tears, stops them right in their tracks. Shocks them away.

_dark into the heat._

The soft rustle as he lowers himself down onto the couch.

The warmth surrounding him as the man with the dark, long hair shifts and splays himself out atop the other.

Metal arm shines in the golden light. Fingers loosely gripped on his shirt.

Gently, tentatively.

_oh, oh-oh. oh._

Much the same, he raises a scarred hand. Settles it in the hair, cards it through his fingers.

His throat is tight.

When he takes his hand out, it’s clean.

No red.

Just locks of dark hair.

He puts his hand back.

The man presses closer, winding his arm around the latter’s waist.

_oh, oh-oh. oh._

Golden light, intensifying, spilling from the windows and illuminating everything.

Everything is good, everything is pure.

The dark locks of hair catch the light and shimmer.

_oh, oh-oh. oh. soldier keep on marching-._

The tension seeps from his body. Head tips back against the cool cushion.

_oh, oh-oh. oh. keep on, keep on, keep on-._

Hooks his ankle over the calf of the man splayed out over him.

Soft fabric against his skin.

_oh, oh-oh. oh. keep on, keep on marching-._

Bucky shifts, tucking his head under Steve’s chin. His shirt rides up, his hot skin presses-.

Golden glow. Golden hour. Golden boy.

Shimmering arm tucked around his waist. Hair tickling his nose.

Feels like home.

_soldier keep on marching on_

_head down til the work is done_

_waiting on that morning sun_

_soldier keep on marching on._


End file.
